


In Which Karkat Vantas Has to Swim the Fly

by tinyexplosives



Series: Swimmingstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Humanstuck, M/M, everyone swims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyexplosives/pseuds/tinyexplosives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, you don’t see what Sollux meant when he said your events sucked. You’ve got all of your normal events here. 50 freestyle, 100 freestyle, 100 and 200 breaststroke (okay, well, the 200 breast sucks, you know that, but it’s also one of your best events so you’re stuck swimming it every single fucking meet), and the 100 butterfly, fuck your life. Jack has been trying to make you a butterflyer since the season started, but...<br/>Shit.<br/>Just under the 100 fly, there’s one more entry under your name.<br/>The 200 butterfly.<br/>You are so unbelievably screwed.</p><p>A story in which Skaia Swim Club goes on a travel meet, and nobody likes the events that they were signed up to swim- especially Karkat Vantas. Coach Jack has signed him up to swim the 200 butterfly, which is arguably one of the Worst Events Ever. Jack wants Karkat to make Sectionals. Karkat just wants to swim the whole thing without passing out.</p><p>A humanstuck AU where everyone is on a swim team. That's basically it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a swimmer, this has been an idea that has been incessantly running around in my head for the past few months, so I finally decided to do something about it. I would also like to say that this is my first fic that I've actually posted anywhere, so yay, I guess.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

When you walk out on deck for practice one Tuesday afternoon, the first thing you notice is the horde of swimmers pushing and jostling one another, frantically trying see the sheets of paper that are currently posted on the wall. Looks like meet entries are up, you think to yourself. You’re still trying to make it to the list so you can see what you’re swimming, when-  


“HEY! THAT LIST WILL STILL BE THERE AFTER PRACTICE! I THOUGHT I SAID FOR EVERYONE TO GET A MED BALL AND PARTNER UP! EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE MEET ENTRIES!”  


Oh. Coach Jack is here, and when he yells like that, you know he means business. Jack Noir is the head coach of Skaia Swimming, the club swim team your dad has more or less forced to swim on for about as long as you can remember. Although you hate it sometimes, you couldn’t imagine a life where you don’t swim, so you figure you’re going to stay with the team for a while longer. To be honest though, you would never quit. As much as you complain about swimming, you really do love it.  


There is a mad scramble as your fellow teammates rush to find a partner and get a medicine ball. Nobody wants to get stuck with the ridiculously heavy medicine ball just as much as nobody wants to be the one person who ends up without a dryland partner. It’s embarrassing bouncing a medicine ball off the wall to yourself while everyone else has someone to talk to.  


You guess you’re going to have to wait until after practice to find out what you’ll be swimming next meet.  


You unceremoniously dump your mesh bag and water bottle on the deck next to a random lane and go to seek out a parter before everyone already is paired up, but it looks like you’re too late. Shit, is anyone left? You frantically search the pool for anyone, seriously, anyone, you’d even be parters with Equius at this point-  
“Hey, KK, over here!”  
Thank God.  


You go stand by Sollux, bless him, as Jack writes the dryland workout on the board. Your group always does land exercises for a bit before getting in the water, which is Jack’s way of making sure you’re all tired before you even start swimming.  


Jack finishes writing the set on the board and tells you that you’re all starting twenty chest passes when the pace clock reaches the sixty, yes, even you, Vriska, and if you throw that medicine ball at Tavros again when he isn’t looking, you’re doing a 200 butterfly for time right now without any warm up.  


When the clock reaches the top, you and Sollux start throwing the ball back and forth along with everyone else.  
“So, KK, did you see the psych sheet for the travel meet?” Sollux asks you as he heaves the medicine ball at you. You catch it with a little “oof” as you stagger back. How fucking heavy is the ball that he chose?  
“Actually, no I didn’t, you obtuse shithead, obviously you didn’t see me running out on deck as fast as my miserable legs could carry me. Dad left work late picking me up so I barely made it here before we started.”  


Sollux rolls his eyes and launches the medicine ball back at you harder.  
“Wow, sorry, no need to be so goddamn sensitive. I was just wondering because I saw what you’re going to swim, and your events suck. You’re gonna be pissed when you see it, ehehe.”  


Oh, fuck. At once all of the terrible events Jack could have signed you up for flash through your head. 1000 free? 400 IM? The mile? Shit, he totally signed you up for the mile. You’re going to have to swim the mile and your goggles will probably fill up with water and whoever has to count the laps for you will drop the counter in the water, and, oh god, what if you don’t even have a counter, what if everyone decides that you’re going to do so horribly that no one wants to put the counter in for you each lap and you have to count all 66 lengths yourself? And-  
“When you’re done with your chest passes move onto overhead passes, and if you skip any I will see you, so don’t even think about it!” Jack calls as you snap yourself out of your reverie.  


The rest of practice crawls on. The workouts Jack gives you all today are just grueling instead of shitfuck impossible, so nothing really exciting happens until practice is almost over. John, who thinks he can lead a lane, spaces out and does an extra 50 in the 500 freestyle race at the end of practice. Jack gets so pissed off he makes everyone in John’s lane (which includes you, fuck your life) re-do it so he can get your actual 500 times. You bet everyone else got a laugh out of you and the other members of the Fruity Rumpus Asshole Lane thrashing about in the water trying to please Jack, while they sat around watching because they didn’t have a brain-dead asswipe for a lane leader.  


When you finally drag your miserable carcass out of the water and onto the deck, you realize that you still haven’t seen what you’re going to be swimming in the first meet of the winter season next week. You say goodbye to Jack as he passes you, shove all your gear back into your mesh bag, and scuttle over to the meet lineup as fast as your aching legs can carry you.  


At first, you don’t see what Sollux meant when he said your events sucked. You’ve got all of your normal events here. 50 freestyle, 100 freestyle, 100 and 200 breaststroke (okay, well, the 200 breast sucks, you know that, but it’s also one of your best events so you’re stuck swimming it every single fucking meet), and the 100 butterfly, fuck your life. Jack has been trying to make you a butterflyer since the season started, but...  
Shit.  
Just under the 100 fly, there’s one more entry under your name.  
The 200 butterfly.  
You are so unbelievably screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

Fuming, you trudge back to the locker room. How could Jack do this? Making a non-butterflyer swim the 200 fly is one of the worst things he could do to you. You’re pretty sure even butterflyers don’t like the 200 fly. You know Eridan and Vriska complain about it to anyone who will listen- which is mostly each other.

You plod down the hallway of the locker room and drop your gear on the floor. You’re just walking to the showers when Dave sneaks up behind you and empties the rest of his fruit punch gatorade over your head.

“So I hear Jack’s making you swim 200 fly,” he says nonchalantly as you sputter and try to wipe off the gatorade before it dries and sticks to your skin.

“Yeah, and what’s it to you, you festering shitsponge? Come over here to laugh? You don’t have to feel sorry for me, because I’ve done enough of that for myself, thanks,” you grimace at him.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he drawls. “I already laughed at you enough when you had to re-do that 500. You looked like you were about to pass out afterwards.”

You take a deep breath and try not to clobber Dave over the head with your shampoo bottle.

“Look, I really could not give less of a shit about this right now if I tried. I’ll do fine in the 200 fly. I’ve got over a week to train for it, and I, unlike you, actually try in practice, so I’ll be alright.”

Dave, the insufferable prick, joined his local summer team a few years ago just for shits and giggles, and surprise, surprise, turns out swimming is a talent he never knew he had! He’s has been swimming year round for about two years now, and he’s already faster than you, and you’ve been swimming competitively for the better part of seven years.

“Besides,” Dave shrugs, “Jack signed me up for the 200 fly also, and I’ve never had to swim it before either. I guess that’s what I get for being an IM’er. I have to swim all four strokes all the fucking time, and it sucks.”

Oh. Well, you didn’t know that. A few times a year, Jack signs the whole swim team up for a travel meet and uses that as an excuse to get everyone to swim events they’ve never swum before. Looks like you and Dave got the 200 fly. You wonder who else got stuck swimming something even worse.

As it turns out, lots of people are swimming new events in the upcoming meet. Eridan and Vriska, who are both butterflyers, are swimming the 200 breaststroke, while the IMers, Dave and Kanaya, are both swimming the 200 fly. If anyone wasn’t swimming a 200 of non-freestyle in the meet, Jack signed them up for either the 400 IM or the mile.

You learn all of this the next morning at practice, because 4:45 AM is the best time to gripe about your life problems, and it’s better than actually getting in the frigid water. Gamzee, who hadn’t been to practice since last week, only found out that he was swimming the mile when you texted him after practice yesterday. Since he never goes to practice, Gamzee is a sprinter because he doesn’t have the endurance for any else. However, since you told him that he’s swimming the mile, he’s showed up for his first morning practice since the start of the season a month ago. If he thinks he can train himself into shape for the mile in eight days, then he’s in for a big surprise.

Getting in the butterfly lane instead of the breastroke lane at practice is definitely an experience that you aren’t too eager to have again. The waves in that lane are fucking unbelievable, and you’re positive that Vriska goes out of her way to knock arms with everyone in the lane as many times as possible.

Even if that lane is absolute hell, you’re determined to do well in this 200 fly. At the very least, you want to make it the whole way without dying. Eridan says you’re being overdramatic, which is rich coming from him, even if he’s probably right. Jack has it set in his mind that you’re going to make sectionals.

“Hey, kid, even if you don’t make the cut this time, there’s always the January Invitational, right?” Jack says to you after practice.

“The January Invitational?” You groan. “You mean I’m going to have to swim it again?”

“Don’t complain,” Jack snaps at you. “I think you’ve got potential to be a pretty decent butterflyer if you put work into it. Stop with the negative attitude. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, Jack walks off, leaving you to wonder what you ever did to deserve such a maniac for a coach.

Even with the impending doom of the 200 fly looming over your head, you have to admit that you’re excited for the travel meet. You like meets away from home because you get to escape from the ridiculously stressful clusterfuck that is your life and only worry about swimming for two days. The only downside is that you never get any homework done, so you end up doing all your assignments for three hours straight on Sunday night when you get home.

You also have to share a room with three other guys on your team. They can be from your training site, or even worse, from a pool so far away you have no idea who they are. Luckily, this has never happened to you, but it could happen any meet now. You tend to be paired up with John and two kids from another team site. Sharing a bed with John is always a struggle, because you’re constantly trying to keep the sheets on your side of the bed because John is a huge asslicking cover hog. He tells you that you snore, though, so you guess that you’re even.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Friday, the day you’re leaving for the meet, and god damn, you are tired. Your homework load has been so extensive for the past week that you’ve resorted to bringing some of your assignments for the five hour long bus ride down to the pool that you’ll be swimming in for the next three days. Today is the distance session, where all the poor unfortunate souls who signed up for the 1000 free or the 400 IM have to swim. Jack didn’t sign you up for either, and since staying alone in the hotel isn’t allowed, you have about three hours of either sitting on your ass bored to death, or putting in the counter for the people who are swimming. You figure you can get some homework done there too if you avoid getting soaked.

The bus ride is never really an option for getting anything done because everyone likes to turn the bus into his or her own special brand of hell for you. The charter bus basically becomes a party bus, for god’s sake. Everyone is yelling and laughing and a movie is always playing, so the only way to escape the chaos is to jam your earbuds in and try to tune everything out, or jump in front of a truck on the expressway, depending how desperate you are.

Today, however, it seems that everyone is more or less in the same homework-riddled boat that you are, so the bus is quieter than usual. You get a few Spanish worksheets and your World History reading done without much problem.

When the bus eventually becomes too loud to do homework (as it always does eventually), you talk to Eridan while Vriska, Terezi, Dave, and Tavros are engaged in a life-or-death match of some sort of card game in the back of the bus.

“So, who do you want to get as your roommates?” you ask Eridan as Vriska shrieks obscenities at Dave in the background.

“I care who I do get way less than I care about who I don’t get, honestly. Last meet I was fuckin’ stuck with Gam and he kept shoutin’ in his sleep. Apparently he had some nightmare, and he kicked out so hard I fell off the bed and woke up. And let me tell you, I didn’t fall back asleep for three hours ‘cause he hogged all the goddamn sheets and it was like a frozen fuckin’ tundra in our room. I swear I had icicles formin’ on my towels the next day.”

You’re never sure of the extent to which Eridan exaggerates, but you nod along to his story anyway. The two of you trade swimming horror stories for the remainder of the bus ride (“Hey, at least your goggles have never fallen off during the 200 fly, that was the worst fuckin’ race of my life, that was.” “Yeah, well I’m swimming it Sunday so I wouldn’t rule it out just yet”) until you arrive at the pool an hour later. 

The first thing you notice is that the pool is actually pretty nice, for travel meet standards. It’s 8 lanes, 25 yards and pretty deep, and there’s a decent sized warm down pool on the other side of the natatorium. There’s space to walk around on deck, too, so it looks like the meet won’t be too crowded. The bus was early, so everyone heads over to the designated area where you’ll more or less be living for the next two and a half days. SSC, for Skaia Swim Club, is printed on a sheet of paper that's haphazardly taped above a set of bleachers, and everyone races to get a good spot to sit. Because you were too busy staring blankly around the pool deck like the asslicking chump that you are, you end up having to squeeze your bag on the edge of the bleachers where you know it'll inevitably get knocked off sooner or later.

While the IM'ers and the milers warm up, you attempt to get some homework in before everyone gets out of the pool and starts asking if you can count for them. Unfortunately for you, the only thing worse than actually swimming the mile is counting for it. By the time the race is finished, your legs hurt from kneeling on the hard, slippery ground, you're soaking wet from being sprayed with water every flip turn, and you're bored out of your mind. However, whenever someone asks you to count for them, you say yes. In your opinion, you're pretty good at counting, unlike certain people. One time you made the mistake of asking Gamzee to count for your 500 free, thinking that since it was only 20 laps, he wouldn't lose count. Well, he didn't lose count, but he did drop the counter in the water halfway through- and then proceeded to jump in while you were still swimming to try and get it out. That was three years ago, and you still haven't asked Gamzee to count for you again.

Sure enough, Gamzee wanders up to you after warm ups, asking you to count for him in the mile, and you say sure. He’s eerily focused, too, and after watching him train for this race for the past week you wonder if he might end up surprising everyone by pulling a good time out of his ass. 

Since Gamzee doesn’t have a time, he ends up in the first, and slowest heat. Right from the start, he completely annihilates everyone. As the race progresses, you find yourself looking more and more at Jack, who keeps staring in disbelief at his stopwatch each time Gamzee completes another 100. 

During the last 200 of the mile, Dave walks up behind you and sits down while you put in the counter. Just as he sits, Gamzee reaches the wall, snaps his legs around, and flips, completely drenching both you and Dave.  
“What are you doing here?” you ask after a bit, as water runs down your hair in little rivulets and drips onto your face. “I mean, why would you come to cheer for someone during the mile, it’s boring as fuck,” you continue. “This whole time I’ve been thinking of ways to kill myself using this fucking counting board.”  
“Any success?” Dave asks you, totally deadpan. You might as well be talking about the goddamn weather.  
You roll your eyes so hard you think they might fall out of your eye sockets. “No, seriously, why are you here.”  
“I’m counting for Tavros next heat, numbnuts. See, look.”  
Sure enough, Tavros is standing behind the blocks, stretching his shoulders out and trying to look like he’s not about to pass out from anxiety. He’s doing a pretty awful job of it, too, you notice as you put the counter in for Gamzee one last time.  
“You seem to have forgotten I don’t really give a shit,” you say. “My work is done here, so bye.”  
“Aw, you’re not gonna stay? Too bad. We could keep thinking of ways to off ourselves using swimming equipment,” Dave comments as you get up to leave.  
“No fucking way, Strider,” you snort, and leave before he can make any more absurdly stupid remarks.

You’re curious to find out what Gamzee’s time was, but as you scan the pool deck, you can’t pick him out in the bustling crowd. You shrug, and then head back to the team area. You can always ask him later.


	4. Chapter 4

After the distance session finally ends, everyone piles back in the bus to go to the hotel. Once you're there, you’ll eat dinner, get your room assignments, and maybe get some sleep, depending on how much your roommates snore. The bus doesn’t even get to the fucking hotel by eight-thirty, though, and by the time everyone is done eating, it’s already past nine. At nine-thirty, one of the coaches from another site stands up to announce the room assignments.

There are over one hundred swimmers from SSC on this trip, and listening to the monotonous voice of the coach reading off names just about puts you to sleep right there. You probably would have fallen asleep there and drooled all over the table like a fucking baby, too, if you hadn’t heard your name being called.

“Shit, wait,” you fumble as you look around. “Who am I rooming with?” You cannot fucking believe you dozed off like that. Way to go, Karkat, your incompetence is astounding as always.

“Come on, Karkat!” John chirps from the front of the room, enthusiastically waving his door key around like a winning lottery ticket. “We’re rooming together again!”

You heave yourself out of your chair and follow John out of the dining room in pursuit of the soft, inviting bed you know is waiting for you at your room. God, you are so fucking tired, and all you did for the past three hours was count laps for other people. The two of you join Dave and Tavros, who are already waiting at the elevator with their suitcases and swim bags.

“Dave and Tavros are our other roommates,” John explains as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Yeah, no shit,” you say as you push past everyone to get in the elevator. “Now stop talking and get inside the elevator so I can get up to our room and go to sleep. The sooner, the better.”

The ride up to the third floor takes what feels like forever, and when you finally get to your room, you're so happy you could die right there.

“Thank God,” you groan as you bury your face into the fluffy pillows. “I have never been so glad to see a bed in my whole goddamn life. I am never leaving. This bed is my soulmate. This bed and I are getting married, and none of you chucklefucks are invited to the wedding.” You roll around on top of the covers a little bit more for good measure, until you promptly collide with John and get a faceful of his straw-like, chlorine-ridden hair.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to sleep too,” Tavros agrees from the other side of the room as you flop back over to your side of the bed. “I’m exhausted from swimming the mile, which is a thing I actually did, unlike other people in this room, who still complaining about being tired even though they didn't swim anything.”

Dave snorts in amusement. “Hey, Vantas, the bathroom is on your left in case you need to run some cool water over those sick burns you just got.”

You turn around so you’re facing the wall, and yank the covers up over your head. “Hey, Strider, the window is on your right in case you want to jump out of it so I can get some fucking peace and quiet and go to sleep.”

John cracks up at this ("ha ha, he so got you, dude!"), and chucks a spare pillow at Dave before reaching over and turning off the lamp on the bedside table.

“I’m setting the alarm for six in the morning,” John announces, and is immediately met by groans from the rest of the room. “We’re leaving for the pool at six-thirty and Jack is gonna kill us if we’re late! So shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave grumbles, his voice muffled by the sheer amount of pillows he has piled around his body.

“Goodnight, guys,” Tavros yawns from his cocoon of blankets, and turns off the other light.

“Mmmrfg,” you mumble in reply, and promptly fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short and boring this chapter is, but I wanted to get it up now. The next one will be more eventful, hehe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little swimming 101- races are usually swum in groups of eight (because there are generally eight lanes in a competition pool), with the first heat having the slowest seeded times and the last heat having the fastest seeded times. The outside lanes, one and eight, are the slower lanes, while the middle lanes have the fastest swimmers in the heat, with lane four being the fastest.  
> Also, because of school, I'll probably only be updating this on the weekends from now on. Just a heads-up.

You sleep right through the alarm.

However, someone furiously shaking your shoulder and yelling at you does wake you up. You hear voices talking around you, but they're out of focus and fuzzy. It sounds like the voices are arguing.

You roll over, hoping to block out the noise, and fall off the bed instead.

“Come on Karkat, get up!” John’s voice says above you. “It’s six-fifteen and we still need to go downstairs and eat!”

Groaning, you drag yourself up off the floor and manage to take about five steps before you sink down onto the other bed.

“No,” you huff. “I don’t want to swim.”

“Get up, Vantas, you useless lump,” you hear Dave snap, and then a pair of arms lifts you off of the warm sheets as you thrash around in protest. “We can’t get breakfast until you’re ready, so move, I am so hungry right now you don’t even know.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” you grumble, haphazardly shoving a towel and suit into your swim bag. You can change into your suit once you get to the pool, but food is top priority right now.

Upon getting to the dining room, you’re pleasantly surprised to find out that the hotel has a pretty impressive breakfast setup. Looking around, you see a waffle maker, bagels and cream cheese, hash browns, scrambled eggs, a shitload of fruit, and at least seven different types of cereals. After mulling it over for a bit, you settle for just a bagel, deciding that eating a fuckton of rich food before swimming wouldn’t be the smartest idea you’ve ever had. You scope out a seat next to Sollux and Dave, and tear into your bagel while they talk about their upcoming races.

After fifteen minutes, Jack starts the process of getting everyone off his or her lazy asses and onto the bus. You sit next to John, and both of you complain about the events that you’re going to be swimming in the next few hours. 

“What’s so bad about the 200 breaststroke?” John asks you. “I mean, yeah, your legs are killing you and you feel like you’re about to pass out by the end, but most races are like that anyways. I think you’re being a big baby.”

“It’s not the fact that I’m swimming the 200 breast, I do that every fucking meet, you ignorant shitstain. It’s that I have to swim the 100 fly right after. If my legs are already dead, how the fuck am I supposed to kick?”

“Yeah, but you’re swimming the 50 free also, and that’s like, the easiest event. It only takes you twenty-four seconds to swim it!” Since John does a lot of middle-distance events, like the 200 and 500 freestyle, he barely knows the joys of swimming the 50 free. All you have to do is sprint your ass off for two lengths, and you’re done. It’s pretty much the best event ever.

“Sure, but you kick major ass in the 200 free. That’s obviously why you’re swimming it instead of the 50,” you say as the bus arrives at the pool. Jack tells everyone to put his or her stuff down in the team area, but not to get too comfortable because warm-ups are in 10 minutes and everyone better be ready by then.

“But it’s haaaaaaard,” John whines as everyone files out of the bus. “I’d rather swim the 100 breaststroke.”

“That’s this afternoon, you humongous idiot. Besides, I’ll cheer for you in the 200 free. I’ll get a whole mob of people behind your lane, and it’ll be fucking amazing.”  
“Yeah, you better!” John grins and claps you on the back as you dump your bags on the bleachers at the team area and go get ready for warm-ups.

One chaotic warm-up and an hour of waiting later, you go up to talk to Jack before you swim the 200 breaststroke, where John and Eridan are already meeting with him. The three of you get your heat and lane assignments, and walk towards the end of the pool where the blocks are.

You wish Eridan good luck as he heads off towards lane one. You and John are both in lane seven, but in different heats. John is in heat four, but you’re in heat three, which means that John has a faster time than you do.

“Kick butt, Karkat!” John calls as you step up on the blocks.

You do absolutely, mind-numbingly horrible.

“So, you gained four seconds,” Jack tells you afterwards. Your breath is coming in huge gasps, even a minute after you've finished your race, and you can’t believe that you feel so exhausted after gaining so much time.

“That was embarrassing,” you wheeze. “I’m embarrassed for myself, and I’m even more embarrassed for anyone who had to watch that trainwreck of a race. That was awful.”

“Okay, yeah, you gained four seconds,” Jack shrugs, “but look, kid, it’s not the end of the world. You can’t expect to go a best time every single time you swim something- it’s just not gonna happen. Everyone has been training a lot these past weeks, and you’re tired. Quit the negative attitude, and go warm down. You’ve got the 100 fly in a half hour, and-”

Just then, John walks up to the both of you, dripping wet and looking just as worn out as you do. 

“That was terrible,” John groans before Jack can even say anything.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack mutters under his breath. “Karkat, go warm down. John, tell me what happened.”

The problem with John being the heat after you is that you didn’t even get to see him swim because you were too busy talking to Jack, so you warm down a bit while you wait for him to finish discussing his race. You're doing a great job of warming down and sulking while swimming until Dave grabs your foot to get you to stop.

“What,” you snap. You are not in the mood to talk to this asshole right now. All you want to do is get the 100 fly over with so you can go back to the hotel and sleep before the afternoon session starts.

“Well, I was going to ask you how your 200 breaststroke went, but judging by your expression I’m not gonna mention it. Ready for the 100 fly?”

“No, I’m not,” you grumble. “I’m going to do terribly, just like I did in breaststroke.”

Dave shrugs. “Well, just because I gained in my 200 free doesn’t mean I think I’m going to do terribly in every other event. You gotta stay positive, and all that other motivational shit that Jack says.”

Looping one of his arms around your shoulders, Dave pokes one of his fingers into your chest. “You gotta belieeeeve in yourself, Vantas. Seriously, I’m giving you like, the best motivational talk ever, and you’re still sulking like a little kid who just found out Santa isn’t real. I’m wounded, man.”

You can feel your face flushing, and you wriggle out from under Dave’s arm before he says anything else idiotic. “Fuck warming up, let’s go talk to Jack and get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dave quips as you both hoist yourselves out of the pool and head over to the coaches area.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms kicked my ass, so sorry for not posting in almost a month. Hopefully updates will be more frequent now!

The time is 12:36 am, you have to get up in less than six hours, and you, Karkat Vantas, cannot fall asleep.

When you got back to the hotel after the morning session, you slept for a good three and a half hours before dragging yourself out of bed to go to the afternoon part of the meet. Due to the extra sleep you got, you did better in two out of your three events, dropping time in both the 100 fly and 100 free. Also due to the extra sleep you got, you are now lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like you have been doing for the past two hours, because you can’t fucking relax.

It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking, either. On top of shitting your pants out of sheer terror because you have to swim the 200 fly tomorrow, your mind keeps nagging you about the fuckton of homework you have left to work on and the microscopic amount of time you have to complete it.

God fucking damnit, you have to pee again.

A minute later, you leave the bathroom, groping around in the dark to try and get back to the bed, when-

“Wha-”

“Shhhhhhhhh!”

“Fuck, who is this? I can’t see a goddamn thing, holy shit.”

“Shut up!” the voice hisses, and the second you realize it’s Dave, you hear Tavros stirring in the bed you’re standing next to.

“Whassgoinon?” Tavros mumbles, and you hear the covers rustling as he moves around  
.  
“Nothing, I’m just getting some water,” Dave whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

You and Dave wait for a few seconds for Tavros to respond, but are only met by silence.

Dave shrugs. “Guess he fell back asleep already. So, what brings you over to Tav’s and my side of the room so early this fine morning?”

“Can’t sleep,” you grumble. “I’ve literally been lying on my fucking back for the past two hours doing absolutely nothing while everyone else has been sleeping.”

“Hang on, I know what’ll work,” Dave whispers, and as your eyes slowly adjust to the dark you can make out the shadow of his figure grab his iPod off of the nightstand before he walks over to the small couch by the window.

“Sit,” Dave gestures as he fiddles with the cord of his earbuds before handing you one. Warily, you sit, and Dave folds himself into the small space left on the couch so your side is pressed against his side.

“Check it, Vantas,” Dave says and presses play on his iPod. “I have this great playlist for when I can’t fall asleep, it’s relaxing as fuck. You’ll be asleep in two seconds flat. Gotta rest up for that 200 fly in a few hours.”

“Don’t even mention that shit to me,” you mutter, but Dave was right, and within a few minutes your eyes are getting heavy. 

You’re comfortable, on this tiny couch with Dave. His body heat is making you feel warmer and drowsier with each breath the two of you take, and you drift off with Dave’s music playing in one ear and his soft breathing in the other.

You wake up when the alarm goes off a few hours later, only to discover that Dave drooled all over your shirt while you were sleeping.

As John and Tavros slowly wake up, you scramble around the hotel room, cramming all your shit that’s strewn around the room into your swim bag and suitcase so you’ll be ready to leave on time, unlike yesterday. You’re also trying to keep your mind off Dave, who is finally beginning to show signs of life over on the couch. His clothes are rumpled from sleeping on the couch and his hair is sticking up at odd angles, and he looks vaguely disoriented, like he had forgotten where he had fallen asleep. 

Fuck, you need to concentrate. You’ve got important races today, and you are not gonna fuck up your events today by spacing out the whole goddamn time.

“Is everyone ready to go down to the lobby?” You ask a few minutes later, once everyone has dragged themselves out of bed and haphazardly shoved their crap into their bags. 

“Hey, how come you and Dave were sleeping on the couch when I woke up?” John asks you as Dave and Tavros finish packing. “I mean, I’m not complaining. I got all the covers to myself, and it was great, but still.”

“First of all, Egbert, you take all the covers whether I’m in the fucking bed or not. Second, I didn’t mean to fall asleep there. It just happened.”  
John snorts. “It just happened? What, were you sleepwalking?”

“No, you shitstain! I couldn’t fall asleep, so Dave showed me some music that’s supposed to make you tired, and because the music made me tired, I fell asleep.”  
“Haha, okay, Karkat!” John laughs. “Calm down, dude. So if you couldn’t fall asleep, how much sleep did you end up getting?”

“I dunno, like five hours?” You shrug. “It’s not that bad. I’ll just take a nap on the bus ride home.”

“Yeah, if you survive swimming your events on three hours less sleep than everyone else,” John smirks.  
“Thanks for the words of encouragement, asshole,” you snap as John opens the door, ready to head down to the lobby. Fuck, you are so hungry.

“Right, is everyone ready?” Dave asks, walking up to you and John while Tavros finishes cramming as many towels as possible in his swim bag.

“Last session, guys!” John calls as he marches out of the room. “Let’s go!”

You are incredibly nervous.


	7. Chapter 7

Since it’s Sunday morning, the last session of the travel meet, everyone is considerably more exhausted then yesterday morning. With the morning and afternoon session on Saturday, you were up early and in bed late, and your muscles are feeling the strain from your previous events.

You walk into the hotel lobby after you grab a bagel and a packet of cream cheese from the buffet, and slide into an empty seat at beside Gamzee at one of the tables. You nod to him as he greets you and begin halfheartedly spreading cream cheese on your bagel.

“So, Karbro, what are you all up and swimming today?” Gamzee asks you lazily as he stirs around his Froot Loops with his spoon, watching the colors spin around as the cereal gets soggier by the second. Gross, you think as you absentmindedly take a bite of your own breakfast.

“50 free, 200 fly,” you manage to get out around a mouthful of bagel. Ugh, you don’t even want to think about it. You had done a perfectly good job of pretending the 200 butterfly didn’t even exist until Gamzee had to go and fucking bring it up.

“You better be at the other end of the lane cheering for me,” you add as an afterthought. Normally, you hate it when people cheer for you, but you figure that maybe you could use a little extra support. That, and someone could probably jump in and save you in case you started drowning. You tell Gamzee this and he just laughs at you.

“Aw, come on now, it won’t be that bad! You just gotta stop worrying and chill out, you know? There ain’t no way you’re gonna do good if you stay all nervous and shaky.”

“Thanks for the advice, Gamzee,” you mumble, and try to focus on something else. At the table across from you, Terezi is seeing how many pieces of toast she can carefully pile on top of a sleeping Vriska’s head, which helps take your mind off of the 200 fly for a bit. You get some amusement out of Jack yelling at Terezi, startling Vriska awake and sending stray pieces of toast flying across the lobby.

“Alright, let’s go, everyone!” Jack calls, and there is a cacophony of scraping chairs and chatter as people start to get up, dragging their bags and suitcases with them. Since it’s the last session of the meet, you’re not going back to the hotel afterwards, which means you have to struggle with your monstrous swim bag as well as your suitcase while you walk out of the hotel. After you cram your suitcase into the back of the bus, you sit down at the first seat you find, shove your earbuds in, and try to focus until the bus arrives at the natatorium.

Warm-ups pass by in a blur, and too soon you’re walking up to Jack to get your heat and lane assignment for the 50 free. 

“I know you have the 200 fly later today, but you’ve got a while in between events. Take it one race at a time, and try not to freak out too much.” Jack nods at you and shoos you away so he can talk to Gamzee before he swims as well.

Considering how scared shitless you are for the 200 fly, you manage to do all right in your 50 free. You don’t go a personal best, but you weren’t expecting a best time, after all. Your heart wasn’t really in it, either. At this point, you’re so worn out you’re just grateful you didn’t gain four seconds like you did in the 200 breaststroke earlier.

In what seems like no time at all, you’re walking up to Jack to talk to him again for the 200 fly- but Dave is already there. You briefly make eye contact as you stand next to him, and even though he’s trying not to show it, he looks as nervous as you feel.

“So,” Jack begins, “The 200 butterfly. The first time you swim it is always the worse, but you feel pretty damn proud of yourself once you’ve made it. Here’s my advice- keep your stroke together, no matter how tired you feel. Don’t go out sprinting the first 100, because you’ll die and I’ll be here by the side of the pool laughing at you.”

“That makes me feel great,” Dave mutters. “Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem,” Jack deadpans, flipping through the various papers he has attached to his clipboard.

“Okay, heat and lane assignments. Dave, you are heat one, lane five, and Karkat, you’re heat one, lane six.”

Jack grins ominously and smirks at you from over his clipboard. “Hey, you two are right next to each other. Looks like we’re gonna have a little race.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Good motivation for the both of you,” Jack says, and then, “The last heat of girls butterfly just dove in, so I’d recommend getting your asses up to the blocks so you don’t miss your event.”

“So, a race, huh?” Dave comments as you walk up behind your respective lanes.

“Shhhh!” You snap as you pull your goggles on over your cap. “I need to focus.”

“Okay, okay,” Dave mutters as he turns away to stretch, but before you can get more than five goddamn seconds of peace and quiet, Eridan walks up to you.

“Good luck, Kar,” Eridan grimaces as he stretches his shoulders. “The first 200 fly is always the hardest. I would totally cheer for you and Strider but I’m swimmin’ practically right after you guys, so I don’t really have time.” Eridan pauses and glances over towards the other side of the pool. “Looks like the two a you have a bit of a fan club, though.”

Sure enough, when you look over you see a cluster of Skaia swimmers crowded behind lanes five and six. Through the dark fog of your goggles you can make out a few of the faces in the group- you see John and Terezi, and even Gamzee managed to remember to show up and cheer.

“Hey, Strider,” you nudge Dave and point to the end of the pool. “Check it out.”

“Hey, what happened to you needing to- oh. Fucking sweet,” Dave grins at you as the heat of swimmers in the water steadily approaches the wall. “Let’s do this.”  
“Let’s make this happen,” you reply grudgingly, and roll your eyes even though your goggles are too tinted for Dave to see.

The referee’s voice crackles over the microphone. “This is event 41, boys fifteen and over 200 meter butterfly, heat one.”

The starter blows the whistle and you step up on the blocks.

“Take your marks.”

The beep goes off and you explode off of the starting blocks and into the water.

The first fifty of the 200 butterfly, you decide, isn’t that bad. You focus on keeping your pull and your kick in time with each other, making sure you breathe every other stroke and keep your hips up. You think you can see Dave in front of you, but you remember Jack’s warning about going out too hard and decide you’d rather not sprint the first fifty like a total moron.

You’re facing the left when you turn, and as you hear the chorus of “Go!!” from the crowd at the end of the pool, you also see Dave push off just ahead of you.

“Don’t fall for it, Vantas,” you think grimly as you kick off the wall. “You’ve still got a 150 left.”

The second fifty of the 200 fly is exponentially worse than the first. Your arms and legs burn, and you’re struggling not to take a breath every single stroke, knowing that it will slow you down. When you turn at the 100 mark, you’re facing the other way, so you can’t see Dave, but he can see you. You can’t even tell if he’s ahead of you by this point.

By the third fifty you think, “fuck it,” and start breathing every stroke. By the time you reach the wall to turn into the last fifty you don’t know how you’re going to manage to swim another length of the pool. 

As you turn, you hear the roaring of the crowd behind Dave’s lane and yours, and as you push off the wall you realize that Dave is right fucking there. 

Now that you know where Dave is, determination surges through you- you’ve got less than a fifty left. You can beat Dave. You can kick his fucking ass. Your lungs are screaming for air and you’re forcing your arms through the water, but you want to win this so fucking bad.

Kick, pull, kick, pull. “Beat Dave, beat Dave,” you think desperately to the rhythm that your arms and legs make as you swim.

The second you finish, you whip your head around to look at the electronic scoreboard, where Dave’s last name and yours sit side by side. The name Vantas has a little number “2” next to it, and your stomach plummets.

Second. 

“I lost to Dave,” you think to yourself. “He fucking beat me.” You can’t stop gulping in huge gasps of air, and your shoulders are heaving. You can’t feel your goddamn arms. All that work, and you still. Fucking. Lost.

Your eyes dart down the board to “Strider”, where-

Where there is a number “3”.

“Nice one, Vantas,” Dave wheezes from the lane behind you. “You beat me. Some random asshole in lane four won, though.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, as you absentmindedly shake the hand of the person in lane seven. You turn around so you’re facing Dave.

“You look like shit,” Dave pants. “Like you got run over by a truck or something.”

“Shut up, asshole,” you say. “We swam the 200 fly. We did it.”

Dave grins back at you. “We made it happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! There's either going to be one more chapter, or one more chapter and an epilogue. I haven't decided yet.


	9. Epilogue

“Not bad,” Jack congratulates the two of you from behind his clipboard after the race. “You were both about three seconds off the sectionals cut. If you train more and swim it again in a month or so, you might be able to make it.”

“Swim it again?” Dave looks incredulous. “Look, I’m not really a butterflyer, like, at all. I don’t think-”

“Not you, Strider,” Jack dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “You already do IM, free, and back. I was talking to Vantas.”

You gape at him. “I’m a breaststroker. Since when was I ever good at butterfly?”

“Since you started training for it,” he says simply. “I think you’ve got some potential when it comes to fly, kid, whether you like it or not.”

Jack finally peers over his clipboard to glare at you and Dave. “Don’t you two have to warm down? Just because that was your last event doesn’t mean you can skip, so get moving.” With that, he sends the both of you off.

“Not too shitty, huh?” Dave says to you as you head towards the warm down pool. He slings an arm over your still-dripping shoulders with a wet smack. “It wasn’t that hard to swim, I guess,” he deadpans, despite the fact that less than a minute ago he looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

“Right,” you snort. “You’re only saying that because you’re never gonna have to swim it again for the rest of your fucking life.”

“Well, yeah,” Dave grins and looks down at you. “Obviously.” You absentmindedly notice that he still has drops of water clinging to his eyelashes.

On the bus ride home, Dave falls asleep on you again and drools all over your shoulder. You decide you don’t really mind it that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thanks to everyone who read the story and put up with my inconsistency in updating, haha. I was going to try to upload a new chapter every week, but that never really happened. I kind of learned the hard way I'm not good at keeping a schedule when it comes to updates. Anyways, thanks again to everyone who read/gave kudos/left comments. I hope you enjoyed it!


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